


Those Cylon Parties

by silk_knickers



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-22
Updated: 2010-08-22
Packaged: 2017-10-11 05:08:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/108753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silk_knickers/pseuds/silk_knickers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inspired by #6's line that went something like "I've never seen him at the Cylon parties..."  This was supposed to be mildly humorous, I don't know how well it works outside of my head.  :)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Those Cylon Parties

  
Number Six-Dash-Five-Oh-One stood, bored, near the bowl of cheese dip.

Number One (Dash-Seventy-Three) was babbling on in her ear about how good it would be to finally rid Caprica of the humans blah blah blah kill them all yada yada yada God's command blah blah. How tedious. Number Six used her spare processor cycles to evaluate yet again whether there were any flaws in her seduction of Gaius Baltar. The stored data on their last encounter was scrutinized in moments and, as expected, his responses fell well within the operational parameters of their plan. She calculated a 99.2% probability that he would not consciously realize that she was a Cylon until it was too late to do anything about it.

Number Six sipped her punch.

Two of the old model, metallic Cylons clanked heavily into the room and moved to take positions on either side of the door. Number Six sighed, rolling her eyes. The things had all of the grace and poise of toaster ovens. It was a miracle (God's miracle, of course, that almost went without saying) that the previous version had ever been able to design and assemble the rather more advanced Numbers One through Twelve.

She set a hand lightly on her hip. She had to grant humans one thing -- their basic body plan was quite elegant. Of course, the Cylons had upgraded it, saving only the best features and those necessary to blend in among the humans, while eliminating the many, many design flaws.

She took another sip of the punch. Eating, of course, was still a requirement, although it was not necessary to consume foodstuffs as often as the humans did, and the consumed material could be utilized much more effectively. Most of the body's material was recycled, at greater than 95% efficiency. She had heard reports that the Number Thirteen Cylons in development pushed that threshold as high as 99%, but none of her model number were involved in the design process, so it did not concern her.

"Will they ever get this thing started?" she muttered.

Number One stopped speaking and stared, a bit wide-eyed, at her. Number Six scowled. It was part of her programming to imitate the humans in every dimension of a multifaceted response profile; Number One should be aware of that. Impatience, unfortunately, was one of the programmed traits. She cancelled the emotional subroutine hurriedly, and schooled her face to a more properly Cylon-like expression of patient waiting.

After all, they'd waited for forty years to destroy the humans at God's command. What was another hour?

Number One had resumed talking. She was an early model, nearly obsolete, with somewhat rough programming. Even a human would consider summarily executing her for all of the talking she was doing right now. In a way, though, the Number Ones were the most convincing human impersonators of all... few humans, or even Cylons, could stand being in their presence long enough to discover anything amiss about them.

God, Number Six hated Cylon parties.

The soothing background music -- in tones too high for mere human ears to hear, of course -- cut off. Number Six looked around the room again, and realized that they were all assembled.

Or nearly so. She did not see any representatives of the Number Twelve model. Typical.

Nonetheless, Number Eleven (Dash-Eight-One-Nine) stepped forward into the center of the room, gazing slowly at each of them.

"Welcome," he said. "It is time to begin."

The room fell silent, at least within the auditory range. In the sub-ether, the chatter picked up in volume as the more than fifty Cylons in the room exchanged updates on the status of their various infiltrations and manipulations.

"Excellent," Number Eleven said. "We will move to the next phase immediately. You have your assignments."

Number Six-Dash-Five-Oh-One wondered why it was necessary to _tell_ Baltar about his role in his species' fate. It seemed unnecessarily cruel. Perhaps, though, God had other plans for him.

"Precision is critical. Synch your internal clocks on my mark... Mark," Number Eleven continued.

We are all God's children, after all, Number Six reflected... even the humans. She could not see the point in letting any of them continue living, though, not even Gaius Baltar -- the only human she'd ever encountered with an intellect even approaching that of a Cylon.

Still, it was not her decision to make. That was all up to Number Twelve, even if she never saw him at Cylon parties.


End file.
